(In)effable Reincarnation
by SalixMendax
Summary: The best treatment for hatred is time and forced proximity with enforced non-violent equality or it's closest equivalent (or the one where two archangels go to Hogwarts and become the best of best-est friends. Kind of.)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Fans of Supernatural, I kindly ask that you pretend that the series ended after Michael and Lucifer got locked away, purely because I haven't watched passed that point. As such, I'll need you to employ a skill that is useful in both reading fanfiction and when playing devil's advocate call 'suspension of belief' and just enjoy the story.**

1.

_(Watching from above, God wondered how much more He would have to influence things to set Events in motion. He didn't think it would take that much more meddling.)_

_(Then again, His eldest boys always had been particularly oblivious.)_

_(He thought it had something to do with their tendency to grasp at the first idea that was put in front of them and not let go until someone smacked their noses with a rolled up newspaper. He had no idea where they got it from.)_

* * *

It was the first time he saw him fly that Lucifer realised Harry Potter wasn't who he said he was. The speed, the elegance, the expression of complete peace and exhilaration on his face as he dived for the snitch and the burning fury as his broom was cursed.

No one else would fly like that.

No one else could _feel_ that much without combusting.

Harry Potter was his brother, Michael. To be honest, Lucifer was a bit embarrassed that he hadn't noticed it sooner.

He hadn't seen it on the train when, on the orders of his human father (who somehow made him feel as insignificant as his Heavenly one did), he approached the proclaimed saviour to 'befriend' him.

Lucifer hadn't wanted to waste his time buddying up to a celebrity with dangerous enemies (regardless of the fact he was currently related to most of them) so that meeting – and all the ones since – had gone as badly as Lucifer could make them. Insults had been spat and glares thrown. This would make it difficult to kindle a friendship if he ever needed or wanted to and he could have blamed Potter for being 'unnecessarily' hostile.

And to think, at the time he'd congratulated himself on a job well done.

Lucifer wondered, as he watched his brother fly without wings, if Dad was watching and laughing. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that that particular thought passed through his head.

* * *

Lucifer felt a trickle of unease run between his wings. He'd been busy eating his second Start of Year feast so it took a moment to recognised the problem.

Michael.

He had a calculating set to his jaw as he laughed and joked with his housemates. It was an expression Lucifer had learned to be wary of.

Lucifer thought back to the end of last year, trying to recall what might have set his brother off. Those last-minute points had been strange. That event reeked of an unsubtle reward for playing a role you weren't supposed to know existed.

Michael's eyes flashed as they darted towards the teacher's table and Lucifer resisted the urge to groan.

Michael had always been a manipulative arsehole. He never did anything unless he wanted to and had considerable talent for twisting situations to his advantage.

Naturally that made him very irritable when someone else tried to manipulate him.

If he cared, Lucifer would have dreaded to think what Michael might do to the poor fool at the staff table who had dared to attempt such a foolish endeavour. As things stood, he only hoped that Michael would at least find an amusing way of reminding humans not to mess with archangels. He could do with a laugh after having to put up with the idiots he shared a dorm with.

The rest of the feast was taken up with Lucifer trying to remember why he had helped Crabbe and Goyle not fail their first year. Admittedly they were smarter minions than some of his demons had been, but that really didn't mean much. Those demons had been grunts who weren't even smart enough to utilise proper syntax.

It did, after all, take a certain amount of intelligence to ask stupid questions.

* * *

"Oh, shiiiii-immying gargoyles."

Two heads, both third-year students, one dark and messy, the other pale and slicked back with considerably less gel than years previous, turned to stare at the stray dog who had just turned into a battered, skeletal man with matted hair. There were so many strange creatures in the Forbidden Forest that neither were particularly surprised by this turn of events, at least until he addressed them by name.

"Lucifer, Michael," the man said backing away and subtly reaching for a sword that was considerably out of his reach at that moment in time, "This is... bloody fruitcake-ing wallabies!"

"Calm down, Gabriel," Lucifer said, still absent-mindedly rubbing the partly-healed spot where he'd been gashed by an overly touchy hippogryph a mere half an hour earlier, "You've not missed the Beginning of the End. Dad let me out about three-hundred years from now, linearly speaking. Hmm, you'll have to let us wipe your memories before you go."

"What-" Gabriel hadn't looked this confused since he was newly formed, and Lucifer had convinced him that the stars were baby angel eggs that would hatch if he set fire to them. Dad had been as furious as he ever got with Lucifer which, in hindsight, he could admit was not that much.

"We got thrown into the Reincarnation Cycle," Michael said, anticipating the question, "Why are you possessing Sirius Black?"

"There was a thing, and there might have been an ex-girlfriend," Gabriel said in that awkward way that only the extremely embarrassed and/or truly apprehensive can manage, "I don't want to talk about it, but, long story short, I needed a new vessel."

"Why a mass murderer?" Lucifer asked, blatantly amused by his younger brother's squirming. When Michael had been told to escort him to the Hospital Wing by Professor Hagrid after Lucifer had baited (and been injured by) the horse/eagle hybrids, Lucifer hadn't been expecting anything this interesting to happen. He just hadn't wanted to bow down to a semi-dumb animal.

"Oh, he's not really a mass murderer," Gabriel said, brightening now they were moving away from the sensitive topic of his latest vessel change, "He was framed and put in Azkaban. I promised I'd check on his godson if he let me borrow his body. It's a bit weird not being a blond to be honest."

"Gabriel, answer me truthfully," Michael said, crossing his arms, clearly not as easily distracted as Lucifer, "Was your last vessel stabbed in the chest thirteen years or so from now by one of the archangels present?"

Gabriel's eyes went wide with shock and he gave a rather unmanly squeak.

"He he, I'm not sure if I should answer that," Gabriel muttered, rubbing his hair sheepishly then struggling when his hand got stuck in the tangled locks.

Lucifer groaned audibly. This was a so called 'prime example' of an Archangel of the Lord? And people wondered why he had fallen.

Michael sighed and rolled his eyes. "Just try not to cross paths with your past self. I'm not fixing one of those messes again."

Gabriel looked surprised then thoughtful before disappearing as if he was never there.

"Multiple Gabriels," Lucifer said horrified, staring at the otherwise innocent patch of dirt where his younger brother had been standing. It had finally dawned that there were two of them now, "Forgive me, Father. I did not know what I was unleashing."

Michael patted him gently on the shoulder in older-brotherly sympathy. If archangels had nightmares, that would be something that haunted his too.

* * *

In fourth year, midnight on top of the Astronomy tower became a standing date for Michael and Lucifer. Neither had a lot of Grace (a part of the punishment from Dad; Lucifer swore they were getting stronger, but Michael accused him of wishful thinking, so he didn't mention it all that much), but it was enough for sleeping all night to be a suggestion rather than an inconvenience.

Lucifer found it rather enjoyable to sit beside his brother with a packet of cigarettes and no expectations to fight.

Most of the time they were silent, appreciating the companionship in the way that only those who knew they had until the end of creation to say what they wanted to say could. The stars were bright, and the night seemed to stretch for eternity.

Other times they would talk. One might complain about the humans they surrounded themselves with or they might tell tales of experiences from previous lives that the other might appreciate. Occasionally this implicated other brothers, which was always amusing.

"Did I tell you of the time there were three Raphaels?" Michael said, lighting his fourth cigarette of the night, "He's just lucky he didn't tear the universe apart with all that time-travelling. Two future versions came back in time because he kept losing part of his research and both swore me to secrecy when I caught them. You'd think he would have learnt from his mistake the first time."

"Glad I wasn't in Heaven to deal with that headache," Lucifer said, chuckling, "It's almost as bad as Gabriel being a trickster now. You really shouldn't keep giving him ideas like that."

"Don't try to pin that on me," Michael said, throwing his hands up with a chuckle, "but I did hear about a too-powerful pagan mucking about with mortals. It explains why we could never find him when it turned out he wasn't dead," he continued thoughtfully, "and that repeating Tuesday."

Lucifer shook his head with a snort. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"I didn't either," Michael said, thinking back to the chaos of weeping cherubs whose anniversary calendars had broken down in a tantrum of smoking electronics, "Admit it, you left because you were fed up with the paperwork."

Lucifer nodded with mock-seriousness. "It was a contributing factor, yes."

Then they both laughed together in a way that hadn't been common since long before Lucifer fell.

And, if their interactions were a little more relaxed after that, neither brother admitted to noticing.

* * *

Lucifer sat at the desk in his bedroom in his mortal father's house and considered. He had a decision to make and it wasn't one he would make lightly.

He had known this was coming since June nearly a year ago.

Michael had been largely apathetic when he'd been entered into the Triwizard Tournament – it was, after all, more interesting than school work – but he'd been absolutely furious when he'd been kidnapped from the third task and a half-dead mortal stole his blood to become 'immortal'. He hadn't stopped ranting about idiots who didn't know what a gift having a soul was and who threatened the fabric of reality with their stupidity. Eventually Lucifer had left him to it and gone to steal some snacks from the kitchens.

The short version was that Michael was the subject of a prophecy and the other side of his coin, as it were, had brutally violated Michael's vessel to return from the nearly-dead.

Lucifer thought it was ironic that the only reason Michael was involving himself in this fight was because he wasn't happy about someone getting one over on him. If Voldemort had chosen another victim, his rise to power would have been unimpeded - by Michael, at least, no telling what the other wizards would do. Michael had developed an irritating habit of using Free Will as an excuse to be lazy and not interfere.

As it was, Michael had chosen a side and that meant Lucifer had to do the same.

While he had been getting along better with his brother these last few years than he had in millennia, Lucifer wasn't sure if his was the side to join. Aside from the fact it was practically expected for Lucifer to oppose Michael, it was also expected for Draco Malfoy to follow Voldemort. Following Voldemort would see him being treated like a prince while, not only would Michael be unbearably smug if Lucifer joined his side, he would be subjected to all sorts of mistrustful glares and demeaning questioning of his intelligence and loyalty from the Circle of the Articuno or whatever it was they were calling themselves.

Also Lucifer had a feeling he would feel more at home with the rapists and sadists and murderers than he would with the virtue-loving bores Michael favoured. He rather thought joining Voldemort would be like being back in hell except with someone else having to deal with all the constraints and paperwork of leadership. It was a position Lucifer thought he might quite enjoy.

Not to mention Voldemort's goals would lead to the eradication of most of humanity. He was practically doing Lucifer's job for him.

A stray thought, a memory of all the time Lucifer had spent a human, passed through his head. The things he'd learnt about the ways these silly apes worked; it beggared belief that they had lasted this long. Voldemort had almost won the last time.

He sighed and pulled out some clean parchment to start writing a letter. Lucifer knew there was really no choice on which side he would join. This time he would be on the winning side.

* * *

**AN: Before you ask, YES THIS HAS A SEQUEL! I'll probably publish it in about a week, once I'm done with the work I should be doing now. What to say about this chapter? Hmmm…**

**First off, I gave this fic a T rating because of the underage(-ish) smoking bit. I know boys in my school were smoking at that age, so it doesn't seem too implausible. Maybe one of them picked it up in a past life? I don't smoke myself, so I'm not really sure why I put it in there. I think I was reading something about giving your characters something to do with their hands when they're talking.**

**Speaking about reading things, who can guess what type of fanfics I was reading between writing this? It should be obvious from the blatantly obvious references. My fictional preferences are wide and specific.**

**Fans of Supernatural, I'm glad that you took my advice. 'Suspension of belief' is a valuable skill to have. I am aware that certain characters may be OCC and of the basic plot of later Supernatural seasons. I know that lots of stuff doesn't line up, but it did when I started out (just shows how long this thing has been lurking). Don't bombard me with reviews about how this isn't canon. It's fanfiction; it's not meant to be so you will be ignored.**

**Thanks to all of you for reading and let me know if I've been to vague anywhere.**

**Sal xx**


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The first time he saw him Michael knew his brother didn't recognise him, not that he blamed Lucifer. It had been a while.

Forty lifetimes and nearly seven billion people: what were the chances they'd run into each other here?

If Michael hadn't been looking to see just where this supposed 'magic' came from, he would never have seen Lucifer's wings coiled around the boy in the robe shop. The feathers were bent and still smouldering from the pits of hell. Surprising, considering how long it must have been since Dad pulled them out and chucked them into the Reincarnation Cycle. In their ruined state, the wings should have been unrecognisable but, to Michael, they were so obviously his.

His brother's current body was short and young, with a pointed face and pale hair and Michael wanted to tease him about how much gel he'd used to slick it back. He didn't think it would go over too well though.

What were the chances?

What were the chances that they would meet, and that Lucifer wouldn't recognise him?

What were the chances that this meeting was coincidence?

What were the chances that Lucifer would punch him if he commented on the hair gel?

Michael listened, let him talk, marvelling in the way 'Draco' sounded just like Lucifer had in the beginning. The same arrogance was there, the assumption that he was right and superior. Michael might have been being hopeful as Lucifer swanned out of the shop after insulting Hagrid, but the same certainty, the desire to make everyone else agree with him as his brother had had back then didn't seem to be here now.

Michael had to hope.

After all, if you live as something for long enough you tend to get a bit fond of it. It would be a shame if he had to destroy humanity in the crossfire.

* * *

In that first year at Hogwarts, Michael felt the subtle nudges of a manipulating chess novice. He let himself be guided into saving a stone that didn't do as advertised (he suspected it was a joke on Death's part) and faced down a soul so foul even Hell might reject it. He was awarded house points and three-quarters of the school cheered.

Lucifer's questioning glare was heavy on the back of his neck. It looked like Lucifer had caught on to the inconsistencies, and was wondering what Michael was going to do about it.

The simple fact was Albus Dumbledore had nothing on Zachariah.

Michael had spent centuries in Heaven being manipulated into starting the Apocalypse. He knew without a doubt that none of his subordinates realised he was manipulating them back.

He wanted his brother out of the cage so he pretended to be convinced an Apocalypse was needed.

He wanted to talk to his brother without fighting him so he gave Zachariah 'suggestions' on how to convince the Winchesters to say yes. Every single one of them failed just like he knew they would. After all, that kind of thing wouldn't have convinced him.

It should have given him time to track down Lucifer, to talk to him.

Once he'd found Lucifer, there was a chance that Michael would have needed somewhere Lucifer couldn't run away from him, so the perfect angel prison had been built. Uriel had even suggested the idea for him after the first few angels were subtly convinced to fall.

It all should have gone perfectly.

Unfortunately, the nearing of the End had just made Zachariah that much more determined to make sure Michael wasn't having second thoughts. It turned out Michael had very little spare time to devote to searching.

Of course, then Gabriel got involved and Lucifer and Michael ended up being thrown into the cage which, all things considered, wasn't a bad backup plan. That had been why he mentioned the workings of the locking mechanism in Gabriel's hearing before littlest brother had left Heaven.

So yes, Dumbledore might think he was manipulating 'Harry', but Michael was going to manipulate him right back.

* * *

By the last month of his second year, Michael was furious.

It had started when Dumbledore began influencing him towards another dangerous situation. It may have been hypocritical, but Michael couldn't help but feel there was something horrible about putting so many children at risk to achieve your goals.

He wondered if God was trying to make a point about him putting the entire world at risk to talk with Lucifer. Dad liked pointing out that kind of duplicity.

Not only had Michael fought a basilisk, which in itself was a chore as a twelve-year-old, he'd also found out there was someone running around leaving bits of soul everywhere. Not even Lucifer had gone that far. Mutilating them a little was somewhat acceptable – humans could manage that by themselves – but breaking souls into pieces made them hideously unstable and prone to wearing holes in the fabric of reality.

Not to mention they did the metaphysical equivalent of making his ears ring.

The little redhead was just lucky Michael had been there or the soul fragment might have ended up possessing her. If someone was stupid enough to try and save her by destroying the diary, the soul piece would have taken refuge in her and the dimensional rip process would have been massively expedited.

As it was, Michael had spent half an hour detangling the two (or rather, one and a bit) souls and was in a particularly foul mood for the rest of the day. The book, he left in the Chamber of Secrets where only a Parselmouth or an angel could get to it. He would deal with that later.

* * *

Michael scowled mightily. He was actually quite enjoying himself.

Without last year's petrification epidemic and first year's manipulations to entertain him, Michael had become quite bored with what a Hogwarts' education had to offer. He needed something to challenge his brain, a competition to sink his teeth into and battle through to victory. An escaped murderer that wasn't really after him just didn't cut it.

That was why he was currently matching wits with Lucifer in a contest of finesse and humour. To the rest of the world it probably looked like they were insulting each other, but, then again, that had always been true for most of their interactions.

Michael parried a particularly foul slur against his mother and remised with a beautifully smooth one-liner. Lucifer turned a particularly fetching shade of pink.

Michael had forgotten how much fun this was without the armies and flaming swords.

* * *

It was a week into their fourth year at Hogwarts when Lucifer and Michael found themselves alone at the top of the Astronomy Tower together for the first time.

"Potter? What are you doing up here?" Lucifer said, sneering at Michael, "Waiting for the Weaslette? Or maybe the mudblood Granger?"

"Give it a rest," Michael said, glancing over his shoulder, "We're the only ones up here."

"Oh," Lucifer said, relaxing slightly and going over the lean on the railing next to Michael. He licked his lips as he caught sight of the cigarette perched between his brother's fingers.

"It's a bad habit but I'd like to see you put up with Granger without something to relax the vessel," Michael said defensively, mistaking the longing glance for judgement.

"I was just going to ask where you got them," Lucifer said, stealing a puff before handing it back to Michael, "You're not the only one who has to deal with irritating underlings. Crabbe, Goyle, eurgh, Lilith."

Michael pulled out his pack and offered one to Lucifer with an expression of intimate understanding.

"It's like dealing with Raphael's pig-headedness and Metatron's anal bibliophila without the option of just telling her to shut up and it being instantly obeyed," Michael moaned after Lucifer had lit his own ciggie with his wand, "I tried once and she ranted at me for hours."

"Why do you keep her around then?" Lucifer asked, enjoying the thrill of nicotine rushing through his vessel. It was something that had always puzzled him because he knew how little patience his brother had.

"Research mainly," Michael said with a weary sigh, "Plus she keeps away the less determined and more prejudiced admirers. Surprisingly, she's a genuinely good person and I can use her to distract Ron."

Lucifer raised his eyebrow and, in a way they hadn't in millennia, Michael understood what Lucifer was asking.

"When I first got to the wizarding world I knew less than a fledgling," Michael explained, "Ron was good at explaining the cultural aspects. Now he's a useful shield against people I don't want to talk to and a mark for where I can keep my grades at."

"And people think I'm the one who ruthlessly manipulates people for my own gain," Lucifer said with some amusement, "The Bible should give warnings about you."

"Well, you had to learn it from someone," Michael said, flicking the smouldering butt off the top of the tower, "I'll see you around." Saying that felt dangerously like a promise.

* * *

It was fifth year, and Michael wasn't the only one becoming fed up with Umbridge. If there was ever an example of why the human race should be destroyed, it was her.

"Do you think Da- God is watching what we're doing? Would He mind if I smote Umbridge, just a little bit?" Michael asked as he and Lucifer lay at the top of the Astronomy Tower, watching the stars. It was peaceful, and a little like the view from Heaven.

"Dunno," Lucifer said, his voice losing its rigid poise as it always did when he was drunk or uncertain or both, "Probably."

"I don't get this," Michael said, the frustration in his voice echoing against the sky, "Why throw together the both of us and a psychopathic wizard bent on world domination? You reckon it's part of that whole ineffability thing?"

"Hell no," Lucifer said with a snort, "I reckon it's just 'cos He finds it funny. I mean, yeah, there's the whole learning not to hate humans, but some of the stuff that's happened to me can't have been that ridiculous by chance."

"If He wanted me to not hate humans, the Dursleys were probably not the best way to go about things," Michael mused, lighting another stick with a flare of Grace and watching the smoke dim the stars. Lucifer might have had a point about their Grace getting stronger, but Michael had never been one to admit he was wrong.

"Eh, they're destined for the pit anyway," Lucifer said, shrugging as he lit his own cigarette the same way, "The walrus made a deal to get the horse-faced bitch to love him and the bitch made a deal to get rid of her son's magic."

Michael nodded and took a drag of chemical infused smoke. "I'm more okay with that than I should be. Dudley Dursley with magic, it barely bares thinking about."

* * *

In the summer after fifth year, when Hermione told him Draco Malfoy had betrayed his father and joined the Order of the Phoenix, Michael laughed until he cried. Nothing anyone said could make him explain what he found so funny. He just smiled a knowing smile, the corner of his lip twitching whenever Dumbledore called a meeting.

"What is it you find so amusing?" Lucifer asked, centuries of patience worn thin by the constant feeling of being mocked. If Michael found something amusing it wasn't likely to be pleasant.

"You'd think by now we would have found new roles to play," Michael said, a hint of bitterness too faint for anyone else to notice, "The Good Little Solider and the Rebellious Son."

Then he laughed again, and Lucifer growled and threw a cushion at him.

The next morning Michael and Lucifer tracked down the soul fragments and Lucifer was completely unsympathetic to Michael's sore ears. Drawing on his anger towards both Voldemort and his brother's snide comments, Michael smote the soul fragments out of existence and settled back to see who would be the one to get a lucky hit on the last remaining (and only bipedal piece).

In the end it was a pair of prankster twins who lured him out to Diagon Alley with rude posters in their joke shop window then set off a huge fireworks display beneath his feet.

Lucifer may have helped a little with the timings.

* * *

_(Watching from above, God huffed at being compared to either Dumbledore or Voldemort, but He conceded His eldest had a point in the rest of the matter. It wasn't quite what He'd hoped for when he began this scheme, but it was close enough.)_

_(At least the boys were getting along better now.)_

_(Though He wasn't too sure He wanted to be around when Michael and Lucifer were finished plotting their restructuring of Heaven.)_

* * *

**AN: Wow, this week's gone by quickly. I checked the date and realised I couldn't put off getting this out there any longer. Good thing I already had it written.**

**So, what do you think of my reasoning for HP being the little black dress (or alternatively the village bicycle) of crossovers? I do mean that in the nicest way possible. HP is normally the first place my mind goes when I start making up fic ideas from another fandom.**

**What do you think of Michael's POV? Obviously very different from what Harry's would have been but I enjoyed writing it. There's something about characters that are shamelessly not human and without a full set of 'human' values (I've got a whole rant on that topic, don't get me started).**

**Let me know if the structure was a bit weird or if you want anything clarifying. This was originally written alternating between POVs. I'm not sure how well the flow carried over when I re-ordered it.**

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. 

Sal xx


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